


something old, something new

by PaddyWack



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pre-Relationship, dorian is a peacock, solas is intrigued
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaddyWack/pseuds/PaddyWack
Summary: Reckless. This is what Solas thinks of the Tevinter man-child who joins their ranks.
Relationships: Fen'Harel | Solas/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	something old, something new

Dorian is quick to establish himself as a presence, one that grates on Solas’ nerves and tests even his deepest wells of patience. The arrogance and self-aggrandizing comments are exhausting enough on their own, moreso when the man appears to be so obviously spoiled by a childhood of obsessive fawning. It’s the tendency of throwing himself thoughtlessly into harm’s way, hotheaded and aggressively rash, that Solas finds the most draining.

The man is an impressively learned mage, Solas will not deny him that. Though such proficiency in battle is largely overshadowed by Dorian’s relentless, desperate acts of self-destruction. The first few weeks nearly exhaust Solas’ knowledge of healing spells, and he has to make a conscious effort to increase their potency before the man winds up dead in a ditch. 

At first, he’s convinced such foolish acts are Dorian’s way of reaffirming his importance to the others, showing off in order to prove himself capable as a reliable member of the Inquisition while taking the opportunity to flaunt his skills (and himself). 

It isn’t until Solas is cradling Dorian in his lap, biting his tongue to keep from scolding the ridiculous man for once again catapulting himself into the middle of something so clearly above his head, that Solas reconsiders. 

Dorian is shivering violently, sprawled against Solas with wild eyes and blood steadily leaking from his nose after having strained himself too hard focusing powerful casts. One of his legs is badly injured and his one exposed shoulder bears scorch marks from an enemy’s lucky shot. 

He struggles, weak as a kitten, as Solas attempts to heal as much of the damage as he can while the others continue fighting. 

“Let me try again,” Dorian chokes, half-conscious and reeling. 

“Hold still,” Solas orders, restraining Dorian with one hand and resuming the healing spell with his free one. “You are badly injured. Let me help you.”

“Please,” he begs, trying to pull away. “I can do better.”

Solas pauses for only a moment, a brief instant in which he assesses the bleeding man in his lap with a shrewd look. A possible explanation for Dorian’s foolish negligence slowly dawns on him, and Solas feels bad for having judged the man so unfairly in the beginning. 

Perhaps the show of arrogance and audacious behavior was never really a performance at all, but the actions of a lonely, desperate child seeking a kind word, a place to feel wanted, a reason to feel worth something after being taught to believe the opposite. 

Dorian’s eyes briefly meet his own before skirting away again, though it’s long enough for Solas to catch the look of distress lurking there. He lessens his hold and slides a careful hand up Dorian’s neck and into his hair, stroking gently. 

“Peace, Dorian,” he soothes. “You did very well.”

He’s relieved when the assurance seems to do the trick. The man grows still and flashes him a wavering look, as if he wants so badly to believe those words but is unsure of their sincerity. Solas makes a noise of approval and continues stroking through the sweat-damp hair. 

“You were magnificent,” he assures again, observing the telling way in which tension eases from Dorian’s body after such praise. 

The spell is able to exercise itself to completion after that without any further interruption, and Solas holds Dorian securely against his chest as the poor boy finally succumbs to exhaustion and loses consciousness.

* * *

From there, it becomes somewhat easier to control the abrasive behavior, and Solas convinces himself that he is doing this not just for himself or Dorian, but for everyone. They are the sum of their parts and if one of their group is constantly on the verge of self-destructing they will all suffer for it.

This is how he justifies it to himself, anyway.

It starts small. A kind word here, a curving smile of acknowledgement there, a few quiet encouraging words and a fleeting brush of fingers before and after particularly trying battles. Dorian positively glows under the praise. His expressive hazel eyes seek Solas out more and more often, glittering in response to those modest concessions, and Solas feels himself swell with pride.

Dorian does try to put up a front at first and avoid Solas, but those half-hearted ventures occur less and less as he grows accustomed to receiving steady praise and wordless looks of approval. Solas can’t help but feel pleased at the obvious change. Something so simple and easy to give, and it visibly alters the man entirely. Perhaps he shouldn’t allow his pride to get the better of him, but this is precisely what happens as he quietly observes Dorian’s steady progress. 

He doesn’t intend for it to develop into something deeper. He doesn’t expect it to though he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t think about it occasionally. He entertains the idea without any true heat because even he can experience loneliness, crippling and infinite as it can be sometimes, and imagining a reprieve from that constant well of anger and sadness can be liberating. But such a dalliance would only distract them both, and the Inquisition suffers enough without their split attention aiding to its precarious state.

Still, it’s a pleasant surprise when he notices Dorian is not only looking to him for approval anymore, but  _ permission _ . 

* * *

They are at Skyhold having a late dinner; Dorian is seated across from him engaged in some cleverly suggestive banter with Varric and Solas is listening to Josephine’s demure comments describing Blackwall’s latest advancements. The chatter around the table is pleasant, if somewhat subdued. The Inquisition is making steady progress, but as with any warfare, it is troublesome and fraught with too little success.

Still, the company is cheerful and the wine helps to loosen everyone’s tongues. 

Solas is vaguely aware of being watched, though when he casts a curious look around the room he doesn’t immediately catch anyone in the act. He lets his gaze linger on Dorian for just a moment, studying how the young mage moves his hands a little too theatrically to appear casual and the line of his shoulders is a little too stiff for such a relaxed evening. When he laughs, it’s loud and pronounced, as if to prove to any observers his attention is solely on the naughty joke Varric just made and nothing else.

Solas smirks, subtle and incisive, as he faces Josephine again. From the edge of his vision he keeps an eye on Dorian and doesn’t have to wait long before the man twitches in his direction again. This time when Solas looks over at him he pins Dorian’s fleeting glance with a raised eyebrow and is rewarded with a guilty flush that darkens the man’s face.

Curious. 

The others have already began eating their meals and conversation flows naturally with the clink of silverware against pewter dishes. Josephine’s attention has shifted to Leliana on her other side, leaving Solas free to direct his full attention to Dorian fidgeting in his seat across the table.

It becomes obvious Dorian is wanting something from him, though Solas is momentarily lost on what that could be. He is willing to praise the man of course, though typically their arrangement revolves around Dorian performing some sort of action and Solas rewarding him with murmured assurance that he is  _ good _ and Solas is  _ proud.  _ Their exchange is one of validating self-worth, and Solas tries to recall if Dorian did something in the last few hours that is particularly deserving.

Dorian is chewing the inside of his cheek. He looks away from Solas again and down at his untouched plate, and Solas patiently waits for some sort of clue that will help him understand. Dorian frowns and looks agitated with himself, as if frustrated with his own inability to communicate what he wants. When he looks up at Solas again his eyes are surprisingly vulnerable and he taps a discreet finger against his fork, brow furrowing in silent request.

Understanding dawns in the same instant that a decidedly possessive growl unfurls in Solas’ chest. He only just represses the sound and has to swallow it back down with difficulty. He feels warm, far too warm for the drafty dining hall, though it’s quickly tempered by the calming breath he takes as he gives Dorian a calculating look. 

This brilliant, wonderful boy. 

Dorian blushes deeper as Solas takes a slow sip of watered down wine. The shift in dynamic is unexpected and Solas is somewhat surprised at himself for not having anticipated this before now, though it doesn’t make the moment any less pleasing.

Solas holds Dorian’s gaze for a moment longer before he inclines his head in a slight nod, granting permission as he sets his glass back to table. Dorian’s shoulders immediately relax, the stiffness falling away in an instant, and he obediently bends to his plate and starts to eat. 

The whole unspoken exchange leaves Solas nearly purring.

**Author's Note:**

> idk i guess i just want to burn in rarepair hell. probably won't continue this just needed it out of my system.


End file.
